


A Taste of Salvation

by femmenoire



Category: Justified
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-18
Updated: 2017-06-18
Packaged: 2018-11-15 15:54:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,154
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11234265
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/femmenoire/pseuds/femmenoire
Summary: There's always been something between them...





	A Taste of Salvation

Rachel

Rachel Brooks is not the kind of woman to mix her personal and professional lives. She just doesn’t have that luxury.

It was worse for her. Everyone knew it, even if they refused to admit why. So when Raylan sauntered his way into the building with a couple days’ worth of stubble and that big ass hat, and Tim slumped in his chair smelling like Ivory soap and gunpowder, Rachel came to work groomed according to department standards, her back straight while she typed up yesterday’s notes.

It was only in the evenings when she let herself unwind, just a bit.

She always drove to the next county over to dance, drink, and meet men. She didn’t want to risk running into anyone from work, and there weren’t enough Black men in Harlen county anyway.

But she was probably being overly cautious. The likelihood of her running into Raylan, Tim, Art, or Keith from IT, at one of the only four non-honky tonk bars in the city was probably pretty low.

“But it can’t hurt to take care,” she mumbled to herself as she stepped out of her car.

***

Rachel was never really the kind of woman to get all dressed up, but every now and then she liked to go out, in a brand new skintight dress and high, high heels just to attract a little attention.

Tonight was one of those nights.

Her red dress was so tight, goosebumps rose all over her body as a light evening breeze blew past. And the soft click-click of her heels against the pavement made her heart beat just a little bit faster. With every step she took the stress of the day and yet another shootout, with its endless paperwork, melted away.

***

She reminded herself to sip her drink and not guzzle it like she’d done her first.

It was her nerves, she’d always been horrible at the whole dating situation. She couldn’t smile on command, she didn’t giggle, and she definitely never twirled her hair. She just didn’t have it in her.

That’s what Shaunie was for. Rachel’s best friend since middle school always pulled her out of her shell, usually with a few too many drinks and then a shove onto the dance floor. Rachel complained, but deep down she loved it.

Unfortunately, Shaunie was pulling a double shift at the hospital and Rachel needed the release too much to just reschedule their plans and head home with a pizza and a bottle of wine.

***

The dance floor was mostly empty.

There were a few already-drunks swaying to the music and holding onto each other for balance, but most everybody else was clustered at the small tables on the periphery or hanging around the bar for speedy refills of their drinks. And that’s exactly where Rachel planted herself, on the first empty barstool she spied while she waited for the DJ to play something worth dancing to.

***

Tim

Truth-be-told, Tim Gutterson is anything but a dancer. Just the idea of attempting to move in time with a beat made his palms sweat.

But he loved to watch and listen. Just as long as he had a cold bottle of beer to keep him company.

He usually hopped around to different clubs and bars, whichever place had the best drink specials, didn’t much care what kinda music they played.

He’d never really been one to socialize.

Not that he wasn’t friendly, it was just that he wasn’t one to put himself out there. He could make friends at work, shop talk and all that, but if anyone was fool enough to wait for him to invite them out for a drink or dinner they’d be waiting for a helluva long time.

Everyone assumed it was his time in the Army that made him that way, but he’d always been on the quiet side.

His father had always hated it, usually assuming his silence was insolence, so he’d tried to beat him into showing some respect. Tim was stubborn and refused to bend, so his father beat him harder and Tim just pressed his lips even more tightly together.

He couldn’t help but remember this while he pressed his side into the bar, his knuckles going white around his beer bottle for a second. Eventually he reminded himself that his father was long dead and chances were no one cared if he chose not to talk all night.

***

He didn’t recognize her at first.

Her back was to him and her body was swaying in a way he’d never seen before.

It was a slow song, there were couples all around her but she didn’t care.

And all of a sudden he wanted her.

But then she turned around.

***

She didn’t usually drink hard liquor.

At least not more than one.

Sometimes in the course of closing up shop, as Art liked to call it, she might share a glass of whiskey with Raylan and Tim because it was expected but just the one, max two.

She preferred a few beers with dinner or a couple glasses of wine while she cleared out her dvr at night. And she didn’t usually get drunk, only sometimes on the weekends when she had nothing to do. Faced with a full dvr threatening to erase two week’s worth of shitty reality tv she’d uncork a bottle of wine and get plastered. She usually managed not to yell at her tv, but on a Saturday, in her favorite sweats and a V-neck white tee whose business was it if she did?

So tonight was a surprise.

A glass of wine and two double rum and cherry cokes (with apparently more rum than coke) had sent her over the edge.

When she clutched her arms around herself and swayed softly to the music (with an exaggerated roll of her hips) she knew it was probably time to find a seat, but she kept on dancing all by herself.

It seemed like the natural thing to do.

She was just about to force herself to get it together when she felt a hand on her waist.

Even through the drunken haze, her training kicked in.

She was just reaching down to grip the fingers digging into her skin (and hopefully break a few) when she heard his voice whisper softly into her ear.

“You alright there, darlin’”

***

It was such a cliché. He never would have said something like that normally... especially not to a woman he was trying to pick-up.

But he wasn’t quite sure if he was trying to pick her up or save her.

Honestly he had no idea what was happening right now.

But her soft skin under his fingertips made his body tense and his dick hard and...

He tried to keep himself together but couldn’t ignore the way she pressed back against him, her ass sliding against his dick.

Was that an invitation?


End file.
